Tomorrow
by thelittlemarieantoinette
Summary: Inspired by 3x07. "He always could read her like a book. He hadn't even mastered that art during any of his marriages." A Sharon/Provenza one shot with the chance of becoming a multi-chapter fanfiction.


I've finally decided to give this pairing, as well as writing in the present tense, a shot.

* * *

**Tomorrow**

He always could read her like a book.

He hadn't even mastered that art during any of his marriages.

As she came into view, her tense shoulders, small strides and the darkening circles under her eyes gave her away.

She blames herself.

To any other on looker, it was as though Sharon didn't have a hair out of place. Her years in Force Investigation had given her a perfect poker face. Good enough to fool everyone - except him.

She could _never_ fool him.

Though he had almost fooled himself.

For a brief moment, he had tricked his mind into thinking he could abandon her there. That he could walk out the door and draw a line between their professional and personal relationship. That line was gradually disappearing, day by day, little by little, until it was nothing more than a distant memories.

Turning on his heels, he faced the red haired woman once again. Sharon was the foundation of their team; she held them all together. Who kept her together? Who offered her a shoulder to lean on?

He had almost made it to the door. Almost.

"Oh, Captain" He calls, retracing his steps as he walked towards her. "If it weren't for you, we would probably still be looking for those kids" He reminds her, wondering when the last time was that someone other than him had complimented her on a job well done. "Now tonight, when you can't sleep because you're worried about Julio," he pointed over towards the younger man's desk, regret filling his stomach as he remembered how he had handled Amy's hospital visit with a less than delicate hand when Sharon was first promoted to the head of their division. She was still 'Darth Raydor' to him then, not _his_ Captain. "Remember that" He concludes, watching as the corners of her lips pulled up in a ghost of a smile.

He was almost at the door again when her voice stops him.

"Will you come with me to the hospital?" She asks, her question catching him off guard as he stops mid-stride. He could feel that line disappearing a little more.

"Of course" He agrees, remembering how he had noticed her discomfort in the sterile white rooms the last time they had paid a visit to the hospital.

Nodding her thanks to the man, Sharon's Manolo Blanik's carried her over to the teenager who stood waiting patiently at the side of the room. He watches as she rests her hand on the boy's arm. Their last case had effected them all in more ways than one. Every time they investigated a case involving kids living on the street, his mind was plagued with images of what Rusty might have been like in those situations. It was harder for Sharon. In a whispered conversation outside the morgue, she had once confessed that she had nightmares of Rusty being one of those kids; just a number with a casefile and a fake name. Forgotten by the world.

They were both all too aware of how close Rusty had came to being just that.

A ghost.

There one minute; gone the next.

"He's going to drive himself home, I told him he could pick up a burger on the way there" Her voice pulls him out of his chaotic train of thought "We should get going then" He suggests, his hand coming to linger on the small of her back as he guides her towards the door, lifting his hand to wave a silent goodbye to the teenager as they leave.

It is only on their way to the hospital that his earlier suspicions were confirmed.

"I hate hospitals" Sharon confesses, her eyes gazing out of the passenger window of Provenza's car, taking in the blinding lights of the restaurants, hotels and movie theaters as they drive past.

During the early years of her marriage, Sharon had associated hospitals with happy, joyous memories. The births of both Ricky and Emily, their first few days in her life, their first check ups. Even the first time Emily sprained her ankle after losing her balance during a ballet practice, only to proclaim that 'the show must go on, Mother!' in the most militant voice that a five year old could master.

All happy memories.

Until everything went horribly wrong.

More than once, Sharon had gotten a 3am wake up call to pick up her intoxicated husband because he had managed to get into yet another bar fight, that he had managed to annoy yet another casino owner enough to earn a broken jaw or a black eye. It even got to the stage where Sharon had the hospital numbers on speed dial for the nights when Jack didn't come home. The nights were she had pictured him unconscious on a hospital bed or half dead because of his drunken mistakes.

It was because of those memories that she no longer associated hospitals with the births of her children, but the collapse and failure of her marriage.

Maybe one day she would explain it to Provenza, but not today.

Tomorrow perhaps.

"I don't blame you, they remind me too much of death" Provenza says, resisting the sudden urge to reach across and take her hand from her lap. He guesses that Jack had his fair share of hospital visits.

He couldn't blame her for hating hospitals because of it.

Aware of her hatred for the building and everything it symbolised to her, Provenza takes the shortest route possible from the front entrance to Julio's room. His act doesn't go unnoticed by Sharon, who slips her hand through his arm, wrapping it around his elbow and inner arm as they head around the corner.

"Oh god" Provenza mutters under his breath as he catches sight of the greying latino woman who stood in Julio's room. His mother still haven't left; she was almost as bad as his ex-wives. Almost.

Taking her hand out of Provenza's arm, Sharon reaches out to knock on the door, even thought it's already open.

Before Julio can speak, his mother beats him too it.

"Louie! Back again I see. Is this wife number four?" The woman teases, catching the other three off guard as she beams a smile at the couple in front of her. Sharon's eyebrows almost disappear into her hairline while Provenza stands glued to the ground, his lips parting in an 'O' shape.

"Mama!" Julio protests, mortified as he raises his hands to cover his face. His mother was driving him up the wall. Now, he wasn't sure if he could ever look either of his superior officers in the eye ever again.

It was Sharon who recovers from the shock first. "He couldn't afford me, even if he want too" She jokes, glancing over the other woman's shoulder Julio as he tries to hide the embarrassment from his face.

Leave it to his mother to put her foot in her mouth.

Sharon moves towards the younger man's bed, offering him a reassuring smile as she lowers herself down onto the seat beside his bed. "How are you feeling?" She asks, glad to see the absence of an IV or machines at his bedside. "I'm fine, Captain, really. I'm just annoyed that I managed to get shot - again" He confesses, shaking his head as he uses his hands to push himself up against his pillows.

They keep their visit short and sweet, both thankful when Julio's mother chooses to leave not long after their arrival.

"Get some rest Julio, and take a few days days rest" She says, a part of her wanting to threat to let Flynn and Provenza camp out in front of his house to make sure he rests properly, not being his usual stubborn self and ignoring doctor's orders.

As they walk through the abandon hallways of the hospital ward, Provenza comes to the conclusion that if Sharon went home now, then she would stay up into the wee hours of the night doing paperwork and filing that could no doubt wait until the morning.

"Let me buy you a drink" He insists as they arrive back at his car. At least if she was with him, then he could make sure she would have some time to herself - away from all the worries about work and Rusty.

It shocks him when she doesn't protest.

Instead, she nods her head and lets slip a small smile. "I would love to" She says, the telling smile still playing on her lips as he holds open the passenger door for her, helping her into her seat.

He always was a gentleman, she notes, unlike Jack.

He surprises her once again when he pulls the car up outside an upmarket Jazz bar. "I didn't even know this place existed" Sharon admits, her eyes casting over the marble pillars that stand on either side of the crimson carpet that leads to the walnut double doors.

"Just another one of my hidden gems" Provenza declares, glad to see that Sharon's mood has already lifted. "It doesn't seem like your cup of tea, Lieutenant Provenza" She chips, unsure of what exactly she had expected from him. He never did cease to amaze her.

"Louie" He corrects her as he holds his hand out to help her out of the car. Over the last two years, they had developed little rituals that became second nature to them both. Gentle touches on his shoulder as she walks by, the extra cup of coffee he makes for her each morning when he arrives in the murder room even the way he holds off on ringing her from a crime scene to make sure she had gotten at least a little sleep.

The line between their private and personal relationships was blurring more and more with each passing day.

"Louis" She repeats, his name rolling off her tongue, accompanied with a beaming grin. He wouldn't confess to the sharp intake of breath he had taken at the sound of his name on her lips. It sounded right.

He had let slip and called her 'Sharon' in a few private conversations in the past, yet her constant use of his working title was an ever lasting reminder of their professional relationship. A barrier to stop them walking over the line.

Yet, that barrier was gone now too.

He guides her over to a table in the corner of the dimly lit room, away from the hustle and bustle of the main bar and the preying eyes of onlookers, by close enough to hear the gentle music of the baby grand piano.

When their drinks arrive, Sharon wraps the tips of her fingers around the spine of her wine glass while his glass of beer remains untouched for a moment.

"Rusty's graduating soon" Sharon admits after taking her first sip of her glass of chardonnay, the pride bringing a gleam to her eyes. He doesn't confuse that he's that the date marked on his calendar for months.

"You did well with that one" He smiles, thinking of the once rude and arrogant teenager who had well and truly changed his colours. "I couldn't have done it without your help" Sharon reminds him, she wasn't sue where both Rusty and her would be without him. He had almost instantly fallen into the role of Rusty's father figure and her confidant.

He wonders if he should mention the adoption papers he had spied on her desk - or more importantly, the divorce papers.

He doesn't have too; she does it for him.

"I'm divorcing Jack" She confesses in a whispered voice as she leans across the narrow table slightly, their knees touching under it as she nears the end of her glass of wine. "I know" He reveals, seeing no point in keeping his prior knowledge a secret.

He could never lie to her.

Not like he could do with his ex-wives.

"You're too good for him, Sharon" He announces as a freshly poured glass of beer appears in front of him. As he tips their waiter, he can't help but think their Captain deserves to be treated like a Queen, not like a play thing that Jack could throw away like a used toy then come back too when he loses interest of his latest and newest item.

She reaches out to rest her smaller hand on top of his. Sharon never could take a compliment, he suspects that Jack was the sort who showered her in fake affection and half spoken compliments.

He doesn't want to admit to himself that it kills him inside every time he sees Sharon with Andy, every time he watches them walk off arm in arm to dinner or when he's forced to listen to his friend retelling stories about taking Sharon to The Nutcracker and to his daughter's wedding. Sharon deserves someone, but he couldn't help thinking that Andy wasn't that someone. Yet, maybe it was he who was that person? Just maybe.

By the time she finishes off her chardonnay and he drowns the rest of his beer, the jazz bar has become near silent, with just the gentle rhythm of the soft notes coming from the piano and whispered conversations filling the room.

When he walks her to the car, his hand guiding her from behind, he wonders if he could ever be honest with her. If she felt the same dependency on him as he did with her.

Perhaps tomorrow.

Tomorrow he would speak to her over their morning coffee in the office when it's just him and her there. No one to eavesdrop in on their conversation.

Provenza doesn't fail to notice how heavy her eyes become as he drives her to her condo. Would she make it back without falling asleep?

He insists on walking her to the door, ignoring her silent protests as she glares at him over the rims of her glasses.

As they arrive at her door, he feels her leaning on his arm as she steps out of her four inch Manolo's, her lack of height bringing her head down to his shoulders. It was amazing what a pair of heels could do to a woman's height.

"Thank you, Louie" She breaths, scooping her heels up under her arm as she leans across to drop a kiss on his cheek before disappearing into her condo, leaving him standing on her doorstep with a boyish grin framing his face.

Tomorrow.

He would tell her tomorrow.


End file.
